His Mother's Gift
by Ryua Malfoy
Summary: Harry is in his seventh year. Or will be after summer holidays. Of course, things don't go exactly as expected at school either. He's your average lonely teenage boy, and it doesn't seem likely to stop any time soon.
1. Sigh Summer Holidays

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns that. I actually don't own anything of this story, just the events. No characters, no places, no spells... It's actually kind of depressing.  
  
Summer Break (sigh)

Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the newly elected most-elegible-bachelor- in-Hogwarts, the last hope of the wizarding world, was bored. Bored. B. O. R. E. D. He had just turned 17, had less than four weeks before term started, and numerous birthday cakes Dudley knew nothing about, but none of this really made him happy. For one thing, he wasn't allowed to use Hedwig, for fear she'd get intercepted. For another, he was only allowed to use magic if all the Order members patrolling Privet Drive were killed or disabled in an attack. Most frustrating of all, Dumbledore had decreed it was too dangerous for him to leave the Dursleys' until two weeks before term.

So he was stuck. He had exactly two people at all interested in talking to him. Dudley, same as since they were toddlers, still loved to bait Harry. All summer long, a constant natter of 'you don't have any friends, family, blah, blah, blah,' as Dudley showed off his new gangster-style outfits, thinking himself so cool. Dudley had grown out of his baby fat, unfortunately developing into a 250lb linebacker build. Luckily for Harry, he hadn't gotten any faster, so he was still able to get away from him with comparable ease.

Mrs. Figg was the only other person Harry made regular contact with, and he much preferred her company. She at least knew about magic, knew his life, and would never dare to taunt him about having no family. The batty, cat- loving squib always had chocolate cake (with a light dusting of cat fur), comfy chairs (better than his bed, but covered with a thin coat of cat fur), and never told Harry to do chores (other than sweeping cat fur off of whatever he tried to touch). Unfortunately, as a squib, she had to rely on owls for news too. She knew a little more than Harry, as Lord Voldemort obviously didn't think much of a squib so communication with the Order was possible. The information she had, however, was not exactly a lot. Voldemort (she still flinched when she read the name) was somewhere wandering the countryside, but none of his Death Eaters had declared themselves yet. The Order was trying to glean more members, but not having a lot of luck, due to trust reasons. The occasional lone witch or wizard had gone missing, so everyone had stopped going out alone.

Basically, nothing was going on. The war was at a standstill. There wasn't even any homework to do. You knew Harry was bored when he'd finished Snape's grueling mandrake restorative draught essay, and rewrote it twice. Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, he'd finished everything for all of them. _Hermione would be pleased,_ he thought with a grin. And then got sad again because he was so entirely, out-of-his- mind lonely. This was the dullest summer... ...Well, maybe not the dullest. Two weeks into vacation, Dudley had won four season passes as a door prize to a country riding stable. Luckily, Mrs. Figg was drawing the tickets, and loudly proclaimed, "Well, that's just perfect then. All four of you can go for a nice family day. It's so kind of you to treat your nephew so nicely." So they had to take Harry, or be looked down on as cruel caregivers.

And off they went, Harry holding all the luggage on his lap, while Dudley took up the other two thirds of the back seat himself. Oddly enough, it wasn't so bad. Harry's experiences with Buckbeak ensured he could convince the horses to carry him, and quidditch training meant he would never fall off. Once he proved himself a competent rider (even though it was the first time he'd ridden an actual horse) the ranchers allowed him to split off from the Dursleys, something they thoroughly endorsed.

It had actually been kind of nice, at first, Harry mused. He'd gotten his dappled gelding to take a less used sidepath, hoping to get away from the crowds of people. It worked. Unfortunately. He was just entering a thick copse of trees when he heard a snap, as a foot on a dry stick. Harry had wheeled his now spooked steed around as best he could, but too late. Bellatrix Lestrange was blocking his path, wand raised. He rolled sideways off the horse, chanting a shield spell Hermione had been determined to teach him as he landed in a crouch. Good thing he'd actually learned it well, too. Bellatrix's incendio spell ricocheted off his incomplete spell, igniting a tree. That was it for the horse. It got its scorched, spotted rump out of there, narrowly avoiding Crabbe and Goyle Sr. as they stepped out from behind a large oak. Malfoy, Nott, Avery, nearly all of Voldemort's inner circle had managed to trap Harry here, away from even muggle help.

Thanks to the Triwizard Tournament in the fourth year, and an Auror as a DADA teacher in the sixth, Harry had quite an arsenal of jinxes, curses, charms, hexes, and other offensive and defensive dueling spells at his disposal. He wasted no time in firing off a Furnunculus curse at Nott, the closest, starting to finish his shield almost before the previous spell left his wand tip. Once it was woven into a glowing bubble, he started to methodically curse off the Death Eaters, closest ones first. Their spells were rebounding, or simply being absorbed, so Harry held them at a shaky stalemate. Of course, then, they got smart. In order to have such an effective magic barrier, it could only affect magic. Avery, struggling out of a thorn bush, launched himself at Harry. They hit the ground, Harry frantically grappling with the heavier and more experienced Death Eater to stay in his protective circle. Avery's left hand was groping for Harry's throat, his right hand occupied with Harry's wand hand. Without warning, as his fingers brushed the skin, a flash of pain shot through Harry's head, and Avery fell back with a yell.

Not one to waste opportunities, Harry scrambled up, spelling his barrier into mobility to protect his escape. Lucius grabbed at his arm, fingernails digging through the torn fabric of Harry's shirt. He gave a grunt, clenching his teeth as Harry's scar jabbed with pain again, but held on. So, Harry reached out and grabbed his face. Now Lucius let go, stumbling backwards clutching at his forearm and face, shrieking with pain. If he hadn't been so busy running, Harry would have joined him. His head was aching with the repeated scar flashes, and with the effort of maintaining his shield and firing off other spells. He didn't seem to have much choice with either. Another curse reverberated off the barrier, throwing him forward into Crabbe and Goyle. He wasted no time, grabbing at any skin he could see to burn them off like a couple of parasites. They too, fell off, and Harry ran, buffeted by curses until he'd nearly reached the ranch.

There were already Ministry wizards there. The Dursleys were actually looking worried, but that was mostly because Kingsley Shacklebolt was questioning them, no doubt looking very intimidating to a bunch of muggles. Harry had yelled for them to check the woods as Bill and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley fussed over him, but the Death Eaters had already disapparated. He'd been told by Mr. Weasley that he must stay in his home, as the Death Eaters were getting much better at tracking him. And as the orders came directly from Dumbledore, Harry really didn't have any choice but to follow them.

So, he'd been stuck in Number 4 Privet Drive ever since. Of course, this meant he'd had a lot of time to think. Quirrell, in the first year, had been unable to touch him, and he couldn't remember Tom Riddle even trying. But in the fourth year, Voldemort's resurrection had done something strange to his mother's love magic. Voldemort could touch him, although Harry was in agony, but it appeared the original magic was still in play. He'd noticed Malfoy being just as pained by his forearm as his face, where Harry had actually grabbed him. It had to be the Dark Mark. Voldemort's magic was clashing with his own given power, and unfortunately for the Death Eaters that came in contact with him, they became the medium. Poor Death Eaters. Not.

He heard Aunt Petunia shrieking from the kitchen for supper, and Dudley and Uncle Vernon thundering down the stairs, bellowing for Harry to move his ungrateful, anemic (well, they were the ones who had been starving him for 17 years. It wasn't his fault) ass into the kitchen so they could start supper. _Only two more weeks, two more..._  
  
Author's note: So, what do you think? It's part of an idea that popped into my head, but wouldn't fit in Ryua's story. Of course, if you don't like slash, just substitute Ryua's name for Draco's.


	2. Waiting to go Somewhere Anywhere

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.  
  
Waiting To Go Somewhere (anywhere)  
  
Harry was sitting back against the wall on the floor as he and the Dursleys watched the muggle news. They, of course, were all on comfortable chairs or sofas, which Harry couldn't understand. They were the ones with extra padding, why couldn't Dudley sit on the floor and Harry get the big armchair? He'd asked this a while ago, and infuriated the three of them so much that Dudley snuck into his room to give him a sound beating. Of course, Harry was by now much stronger, not to mention had faced worse opponents than Dudley and gave him a black eye and broken ribs fighting back. Funny, Dudley never mentioned it now, probably out of shame that the runty freak had hit him just as bad as he hit Harry. This hadn't really solved anything, however. Harry was still sitting on the floor.

"And now onto our local news," the newscaster said in a cheery voice, rather too cheery for the things he was reporting. Threatening graffiti on the public washrooms (courtesy of Dudley, although no one knew that), some old lady getting mugged (not actually Dudley's gang), a strain of small pets going missing (most of that was Dudley's gang, but one night, Hedwig had brought back a large rat that looked suspiciously like a Chihuahua), your basic lineup of depressing topics that actually aren't nearly as bad as they sound. "There was some excitement on the highway from London this morning. A car, still unidentified, caught fire about 10 km (do they use kilometers or miles? It's about 6 mi if anyone cares) east of the city limits. Police suspect it may have been a terrorist, or a suicidal felon driving a car bomb..."

"East of London!" Aunt Petunia's excited, whining voice cut across the report. "He could have been coming here, couldn't he?"

"Nonsense, Petunia dear. What could possibly be in Little Whinging that a terrorist would want to blow up? This is a good neighborhood, dear, that's why we picked it. That sort of thing happens to big places, or ones who have been too lax with the law." Uncle Vernon was still miraculously overlooking the fact that his son was leading the most organized, dangerous gang to hit the Surrey area in decades. And, they seemed to have forgotten Harry. Actually, they weren't the only ones. Today, someone from the Order was due to pick him up and take him somewhere he could actually enjoy the last two weeks of vacation. They'd probably been delayed again, or all the members got called out for something, or they'd just decided he'd be safer in his miserable existence at Number Four, Privet Drive. Harry sighed, bored with the news (he was still hoping for something about the war) and climbed the stairs to his room.

"Hullo, Hedwig," he said dully to the snowy owl sitting on his bed. She glared at him, hooting to show her displeasure at still being in the Dursley's house. "Oh, leave off, Hedwig, it's not my fault. I'd much rather be at the Weasley's, or the Order, or just about anywhere else. At least you can fly anywhere you want. I'm stuck here until the Order finally shows up. They're late." Hedwig hooted again, more insistently this time. "What? Oh, the paper came."

The Daily Prophet was still being delivered to Harry's house, but there hadn't been anything of interest in wizarding news either. Today, however, the headline read, "Ministry Auror Attacked on Vacation Trip" Harry sat down on the bed, flicking on the light. The only people who would dare attack an Auror were a pack of Death Eaters. And if the Death Eaters were moving, it meant something was finally happening. He scanned the article. It looked like something the Ministry would like to pretend hadn't happened but too many people saw it. It was all full of assurances that no wizards or muggles had been seriously hurt, there was no direct evidence pointing to foul play, blah, blah, blah... the Auror had been driving a car out to Surrey for a weekend to do some horseback riding or something like that when the car exploded. Shacklebolt was in St. Mungo's in stable condition.

Wait a second. Shacklebolt? Kingsley Shackebolt? Driving to Surrey in a muggle car? Oh, shoot. That's why he was still here. The Death Eaters were still after him, and they were getting closer. And they'd attacked Shacklebolt because they thought Harry was with him. He felt kind of guilty about that. Shacklebolt had enough to do with his Auror job, and being a member of the Order, the last thing he needed was to have forced time off because of a low-priority mission. Although, if the attack was anything to go by, Harry did need the protection. If the Death Eaters were willing to risk blowing up an Auror's car in the middle of a busy highway, it was getting very dangerous for him to go anywhere. Not feeling at all as excited or relieved as he expected he would about news of Death Eater movement, Harry changed into a pair of rather over- sized pajamas Dudley had handed down three years ago. "Goodnight, Hedwig. Don't get yourself caught by any Death Eaters tonight, okay?" Harry said as he shut off the light and lay down in bed.


	3. To School At Last

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns that.  
  
To School At Last  
  
There was a loud hoot. Harry woke with a start to see an extremely average looking pair of owls, carrying no identifying bands hovering outside is window, Hedwig having announced their presence. Harry opened the window, and they swept in, depositing a large sack on his bed. Apparently, they were very used to this, as they matter-of-factly took a drink of Hedwig's water and soared silently out, without even hooting a greeting at her. She ruffled her feathers, looking rather insulted. Harry could see why, she was a beautiful owl in the prime of her life... wow, he had to get back to school. He was starting to develop a romantic interest in his owl. Sad.

He turned his attention to the package on his bed. It was quite heavy, wrapped in plain muggle wrapping paper and tied with twine. Harry untied the knot and quietly opened the paper, not wanting to wake his cousin next door. He may have been of age, but Dumbledore had forbidden him to use magic unless death or capture threatened in case the Death Eaters could track it. After tedious unfolding, untying, and more unfolding, Harry saw the package contained all of his school books, even a few refills for his potion kit. A small piece of paper had fallen out, and Hedwig had just picked it up to see if it was any good to eat. "No, Hedwig, give me that." She glared at him and fluttered of to ignore him in a corner. As soon as his fingers touched the paper, words flowed across it like an invisible quill.

"Mr. Potter, here are your school things. The cost has been wired to your account in Diagon Alley, as it is now too late to go shopping on your own." This was true. After the incident with Shacklebolt, no one had come to collect him. The only news was a note from Mrs. Weasley saying to stay put, and tomorrow morning was when he was supposed to board the Hogwarts Express. The Dursleys had refused to take him, probably terrified they'd be attacked. They were probably right too, Harry couldn't really blame them. He kept reading. "In case this is intercepted by the wrong hands, and the fingerprint charm is broken, no further details will be given. We will see you at school, Mr. Potter." It was signed Professor McGonnagal. Harry looked up confused, then dropped the note and stifled a yelp as it burst into flames. "Just a little paranoid, are we?" he asked the pile of ash now sitting on his floor.

How was he supposed to get to school with no instructions, no way to get himself to Platform 9 ¾, and only one day left to figure it out? He shrugged, and put the books into his trunk. It was already packed, although he couldn't really figure out how he'd get it to school. He was just about to climb back into bed when he heard a ping against his window. With a groan, because he was now getting kind of sleepy again, he walked back to his window. Standing on the lawn were Professors Dumbledore, McGonnagal, and Lupin (he'd taken back over DADA when Mr. Weasley was elected Minister of Education) accompanied by four aurors, and a handful of rather cold, scared looking students in their pajamas.

"Get down here, Potter, you're the last one!" Harry stared stupidly for a minute, when a girl he suddenly recognized as Hermionie stamped her foot and whispered loudly,

"Come on, Harry, do you want to go to school or not? Toss down your trunk and Hedwig. Quick, before someone sees us!" He snapped out of it, and went to pull his trunk over to the window. The Creevy brothers (this year's new beaters. They'd muscled out quite a bit) were waiting to catch it, and he passed down Hedwig's empty cage, shooing her out the window and telling her to be quiet. She looked disdainfully at him, soaring out quieter than a cloud. Harry followed suit, gliding down on his Firebolt rather that risk a jump to the ground.

"Good, that's everyone now. Please grab hold of your trunks, and touch this portkey, that's the way." McGonnagal was still as upright and normal sounding as ever, despite the fact they were all standing in the dark in their pajamas. Harry felt the usual pull in his navel, and found himself facing the Hogwarts Express. "Please board, the other students will be arriving at the normal time. You may finish your sleep on the train if you wish."

"What's going on?" Harry asked Hermionie.

"Don't you get it? It's too dangerous for the students to get here without full-grown wizards guarding them. All the muggle-born wizards are being picked up in small groups. See? There's Dean Thomas over there, with all those first years. Those with magical families will be arriving same as always, or maybe with Ministry guards."

"Oh." Harry was starting to feel stupid from lack of sleep.

Hermionie must have noticed, because she said, "Oh, come on, let's get some seats. You can come into the prefect car if you want, it's much bigger, and I'm the only one here yet."

"Okay..." Harry followed Hermionie through the train, excited about school, but right now too tired to care much, and sank down onto a nice, big, comfortable chair. _Maybe I should have been a prefect,_ he thought, before he sank into complete oblivion.


	4. Loneliness

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.  
  
Loneliness  
  
Harry drew a deep breath as he walked into the Hogwarts Great Hall, and smiled, truly happy for the first time in two months. He was home. No matter how much he had to recognize the Dursleys' as his home, Hogwarts was always the place he felt most natural. He heard Ron beside him sniff excitedly, rather like a hungry puppy, saying, "D'you suppose they'll feed us soon? I'm starved."

"Of course, mate, once they sort everyone, of course. And how can you be starving? I know for a fact that your mum kept you well fed all summer, not to mention the six cauldron cakes, two boxes of Bertie Botts', seven chocolate frogs..."

Ron cut him off with an angry growl, except that it came from his stomach instead of his throat. He looked over sheepishly, and said, "Well, I can't help it. I'm a growing boy!" Incredibly, he was still a growing boy. Ron had seemed to shoot up a foot a year, and was only just now starting to fill out to fit his frame.

"Your mother should have locked you in a cupboard for eleven years of your life. Then, you wouldn't have this problem." Harry had only now hit 5' 8", and was unlikely to ever get to Crabbe or Goyle dimensions. Ron dwarfed him by more than half a foot now, although he was still taller than Hermionie. Well, it could be worse...

Harry groaned as his ultimate rival walked into the room. It just got worse. Not only had Draco Malfoy failed to get himself killed, plunked in Azkaban, or expelled, he was now at full half head taller than Harry, and looked older and more mature than his 17 years. Lovely, Harry thought, Malfoy looks like a competent adult, and I'm still a kid. Just what I needed in my seventh year. It seemed so unfair to have only a scar on his forehead, while Malfoy ended up with money, popularity, prefect status... Add that to the fact he was a Death Eater, and you had the perfect rival for the boy who lived.

"Just ignore him," came Hermionie's curt voice, "With his black name, I'm amazed he's still allowed in Hogwarts." She knew just how much it meant to Harry not to be beaten by Malfoy at anything, and was always trying to cheer him up.

"Actually, it doesn't look like there's a lot of the older Slytherins here at all." Ron was scanning the sullen, green-clad group filing towards their house table, and it did seem smaller than last year.

"Voldemort's probably drafting." Through the bond they shared, Harry knew the Dark Lord was building up for a war, but no specifics. "Pity the poor Slytherins. Oh, wait, they chose to be Death Eaters. Never mind." Harry was rather bitter on the whole subject, understandably so, with his background.

"Oh, come on, hush up. You're missing the sorting!" Hermionie shushed Harry's mumblings impatiently with a wave of her hand. Normally, they'd obey just because she was their best friend, but Hermionie had just been designated Head Girl, partnering some Ravenclaw boy, Sasha Scribeson. Ron wasn't too happy with the arrangements, but it was really his own fault, as Hermionie had cheerfully pointed out on the train; Ron was not exactly the kind to take on extra work of any sort. And then she'd gone all mushy on him, saying how it didn't matter, because no Ravenclaw could hope to measure up to him...

Which made Harry feel more lonely than ever. Why couldn't he get a girl like Hermionie? He'd just had bad luck, or something. Depressed, rebounding Cho Chang had been a mistake, Parvati Patil had just been happy to have someone famous to go to the Yule Ball with, Ginny had finally settled down with Neville just as Harry had started to notice she was a girl, and all those one-shot fangirls just wanted bragging rights. What Harry wanted was someone who really understood him, who didn't care he was Harry Potter, who just wanted to be with him for the sake of being with him. He sighed and turned away from Ron and Hermionie, who had just started feeding each other bits of fruit, glanced away from Neville and Ginny, whispering and giggling, averted his gaze when he saw Justin Finch-Fletchley caressing his new boyfriend's arm (That boy changed his mind as much as Ginny had, and oddly enough, was now going with Michael Forner), and just settled for staring down at his inanimate chicken and pasta. For the boy who every girl in Hogwarts wanted to date, Harry was sure having one hell of a time finding love.

At least classes would start tomorrow, which would be some distraction. McGonnagal was a teacher who never let little lovebirds be little lovebirds in her class, which Harry was starting to appreciate could be a real distraction. Between Transfiguration and Potions, Harry was guaranteed at least a few hours of free-from-couples time a day. He froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. Did he just think he'd be glad to be in Potions? Now he knew he was losing it. There had to be someone in all of Hogwarts he'd be happy with, who wasn't already firmly taken.

There had to be.

Just had to.

Please?

Or The Boy Who Lived might just go stir crazy.


	5. Something New

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.  
  
Something New  
  
Harry had nearly died the first day of term when Hermionie pulled out her timetable to go over it, and remarked that Snape was now Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and that they now shared the block with the Slythierins. DADA was Harry's only really good class, and it was likely that he'd have his most miserable year yet (including Lockhart and Umbrage) with the teacher he loathed with every scrap of his being teaching it.

Actually, it hadn't been that bad. Dumbledore, who was now in much better straits with the Ministry, had decreed that the oldest two years learn how to defend themselves, not just magical theory and classroom practices. The first day, Snape had called on Harry to perform his idea of a decent shield charm. It took Harry three seconds to weave the same barrier he'd used earlier that year, and stood there with a carefully neutral expression on his face as spell after spell that Snape shot at him rebounded. It had gone the same ever since, and no matter how hard Snape tried, he couldn't actually mark Harry poorly on anything.

Three weeks into term, however, they started on partner class projects. Hermionie and Ron, of course, immediately paired themselves up, leaving Harry alone. "Mr. Potter, what seems to be the problem? Since there are no students left in your row, I'd advise you look elsewhere. Harry was just turning to go see if Dean or Neville were partnered up yet, when Snape's oily voice came again, "Mr. Malfoy, if you please, you two will work together."

Malfoy didn't really look any happier than Harry as he glared down at his new partner. "I'll tell you now, Potter, I expect to get an exceedingly good mark in this course."

"Oh, don't worry, Malfoy, so do I." Harry glared back up at him, wishing he didn't have to look up to meet his cold gaze.

"Then neither of you should have any troubles, should you?" Snape was rather sour lately, probably because of the pain Voldemort shot through his servants' dark marks for entertainment. Harry was rather sour from it too, as his scar hadn't really stopped aching all week. Although Professor McGonnagal had tried to teach him Occlumency after Snape had refused, Harry was still firmly connected to the Dark Lord's mind. Actually, all the lessons had done was blur the pictures he got in his dreams, so instead of useful information, he only had hunches, emotions, and of course, could feel an echo of every curse Voldemort used on his Death Eaters.

"...give me that." Harry snapped out of a daze as Malfoy wrenched Harry's quill out of his hand. He realized that the Slytherin had been uncharacteristically asking nicely for it for half a minute, and had finally given up trying to be civil. Then, Harry realized something. He looked over at Malfoy scrawling notes on fire curses out of their textbook, with Harry's quill. Which he'd pulled out of Harry's hand. Which Harry hadn't felt at all. On an impulse, he reached over and lightly touched the back of Malfoy's hand. "What the blazes are you doing Potter?" Malfoy demanded as he smacked Harry's hand off.

"Malfoy, weren't you, er, you're 17, right? Of age?"

"Yes, Potter, what's it to you? And make it quick, you're distracting me."

Harry lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Well, aren't you supposed to be a Death Eater by now?"

Malfoy's hand was suddenly clenching his arm painfully tight, and Harry felt the Slytherin's wand tip digging into his ribs. "Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, unless you've got a death wish. And don't you dare speak of it again where it could be overheard." His low voice was shaking with anger, and maybe a touch of something else. "And if you touch me again, I will curse you so badly, you'll never be able to straddle that broom of yours again, I promise."

"Fine, but at the moment, you're the one with the death grip on me." Malfoy let go just slowly enough for it to seem like it was his own idea. Harry looked over at the other students, but none of them seemed to have noticed their little squabble. Just in case someone had seen them talking, Harry asked matter-of-factly, "So, where are we going to meet to study? Unless you want to come to the Gryffindor common room, of course."

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco sneered at him, "The library should do just fine. And show up at exactly 7:30, so we don't have to stay there any longer than necessary."

"Alright, fine by me." Luckily, the bell for classes chimed just then, allowing them both to move violently apart. Ron and Hermionie came cheerfully up from behind, having apparently enjoyed their partnership. For once, Harry was glad they were so absorbed in each other, as it gave him a chance to think. Malfoy was acting rather odd. All his life, he'd been boasting about his family, and his destiny. Now that it was actually time to become a Death Eater, though, he appeared to have gotten cold feet. Snape had made the mistake of grabbing at Harry during a fit of rage when he had yet again failed to mess him up, and had reacted just like the Death Eaters in the forest. Holding his forearm tightly against the flash of pain mirrored in Harry's scar, he took fifty points from Gryffindor and ordered Harry to sit down. Draco Malfoy, however, prompted no such reaction. Harry thought there was rather more about this than Malfoy was letting on, and he was quite determined to find out what. He wasn't the type to pass up a prime chance to irritate his rival, and thoroughly intended to make Malfoy squirm. If he had to work with him, he might as well enjoy himself.


	6. The Meeting in the Library

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.  
  
The Meeting in the Library  
  
"So, Harry, want to go over that Charms essay?" Hermionie was just unpacking her book bag at their customary homework table, businesslike as usual.

"Hermie, we've just finished supper! Couldn't you wait a few minutes?" Ron, as usual, had eaten himself nearly sick, and was lying on the couch in a near catatonic state, feet projecting well off the end.

"Ronald Weasley! I'm surprised at you. This is our seventh year! We've got NEWTs to write, and we have to be well prepared. And in any case, I was talking to Harry, as I knew you wouldn't be up to any activity for quite a while yet. So, what about it Harry?"

"I wish I could, Hermionie, I really, really do." Harry was packing up his book bag, hoping somehow that Malfoy would have miraculously written the entire project on his own and they wouldn't have to work together at all. "Unfortunately, thanks to the two of you abandoning me in DADA, I'm stuck with Malfoy as a partner, and I have to go write my half of that presentation on fire curses."

"Oh, right."

"Good luck with that, mate!" Ron cheerily called from the couch, "I'll be thinking of you here, with my own lovely partner to keep me company... ouch, Hermie, that was a compliment..."

Harry ducked out of the portrait hole as his two best friends started up what promised to be an embarrassingly intimate pillow fight. He passed numerous other students on his way down to the library, some probably off to meet study partners, an awful lot of them skipping merrily around hand in hand, off to a different kind of study date.

All too soon, he was outside the wide doorway leading into the library, and unfortunately, had no excuse not to go in. Well, as much as he hated spending any sort of time with Malfoy, at least he'd get a chance to figure out what was going on in his slicked blond head. "Potter, about time." Malfoy genially greeted Harry as he walked up to a large, round table next to the Herbology shelves.

"I'm not late, Malfoy." Lovely. What a wonderful evening this was going to be. "So, have you written the entire thing already so we can both forget this and go back to our common rooms?"

Malfoy sneered at Harry, motioning for him to sit down. "As much as I'd like to avoid the whole project, Professor Snape is actually intelligent enough to catch something like that. And anyways, I'm not doing more than half the work on this, I promise you."

"Fine." Harry dropped his bag on a seat at the same table, and went off in search of curse manuals. Madam Pince pointed him off to a section of dusty shelves, warning him not to burn anything by accident. He picked out a leather bound book that appeared to at least be written in English, and checked it out, going back to the table where his partner was trying to ignore a group of giggling Hufflepuff girls who had just occupied the table adjacent to theirs. "Wonderful company we've got, eh?"

"Oh, shut up, will you? You are not a whole lot better." Harry rolled his eyes, then groaned as a loud group of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor second-years showed up to the table left of them.

"Popular night for group meetings or something?"

Malfoy snorted, saying "Delores Umbrage had the right idea, banning all clubs, you know. You could always find space to study."

"But then it turned out she was a useless, unqualified squib."

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy almost laughed. "Well, yes, but if you kiss up to the person in power, you get a much easier life. Although, I was quite thrilled when she kicked you off the quidditch team. Pity Dumbledore put you back on."

"Right. And quidditch captain to boot." Another group of students came, filling up the last free table.

"Huh." Malfoy was clearly done with any sort of conversation, and bent to his note taking with, Harry noticed, Harry's quill.

He was considering asking for it back while he opened his book when Lavender Brown came up, asking "Hey, Harry, could we sit here?" Harry jerked his head up from reading about a particularly nasty curse which involved setting every hair on someone's body on fire to see the entire seventh-year Divination club standing there, star charts, palm maps, and a portable crystal ball evident among a jumble of things in a large bag supported by three of them.

"Yes, have the whole table. Potter, let's find somewhere we can actually study." Apparently Malfoy's nerves were fried to the last possible inch. And he didn't seem to care about Harry's opinion in the matter whatsoever. Actually, Harry was about to suggest they find somewhere else himself, so he agreeably packed up the rest of their books and followed Malfoy's billowing cloak out the door. "I propose we go to the dungeons. No one will disturb us there, it's not exactly the place you go for meetings or dates."

"Sure," Harry said, happy to be going somewhere away from so many people. Maybe he'd be able to get Malfoy to talk if no one would overhear.


	7. The Talk

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.  
  
The Talk  
  
Malfoy led them down the stairs towards the Slytherin common room, then passed it, and passed the Potions class, and seemed to take far too many twists and turns. "Trying to get me lost, Malfoy?"

He turned around, a slight sneer on his face, and replied, "What, can't keep up, Potter? Afraid of the dark?"

"You wish." Harry stepped up beside Malfoy, meaning to ask how much farther they were going when the taller boy turned sharply aside to sit at a table mostly hidden in an alcove of the wall. He backpedaled, cursing under his breath the fact that Malfoy had gotten the better of him. Malfoy was already pulling out books, not one to be distracted. They worked in silence for a few minutes, until Harry couldn't stand it anymore. "So, why don't you have a Dark Mark, anyways?"

Malfoy's head snapped up, eyes flashing with cold fire, and he seemed ready to throw out a stinging retort, but then the fire dimmed, and he dropped his face back down to his parchment. Harry was just about to ask again when he said, "It... it's not... You'd be better off forgetting it, Potter."

"Why?"

"Dammit, Potter, why can't you just keep your nose out of it?" Draco slammed down the quill, face intense with some unidentifiable emotion as he glared over at Harry.

Harry was starting to have second thoughts about this now. The look on the Slytherin's face was one of desperation, or something like it, and he really didn't want to provoke Malfoy while they were alone, in some section of the dungeons no one was at all likely to come. "Er... maybe, well..."

"What? Decided that being famous and well liked isn't enough? Now you have to come and get me thrown in Azkaban to bring in a little more publicity?"

"Malfoy, it's not like that at all... if you knew what it was like..."

"No. You know something Potter? You think you have it so hard, don't you?" Malfoy was talking faster and harder, like he both wanted to say it, but was scared he'd get caught at it. "You have no idea what hard is!"

Harry spoke, before Malfoy cut him off again, "What were you talking about, forgetting it? And since when do you know or care what my state of being is like?"

"I mean you could get us both killed. I know the Dark Lord has some sort of connection to you, and if he thought you knew something, he'd waste no time in killing me, and likely come after you all the faster. And he wouldn't be at all quick about it. Potter," he said, leaning closer to him, "you might fancy yourself a pretty decent wizard. You might even be right. But, I can promise you this. You have no notion of what he can do to a person. It can take you weeks to die, and that's if he gets bored. The curses he knows... the curses they all know... keep your nose out, Potter, that's all I'm saying."

"You know Malfoy? I've never listened to you before, and I'm not going to take your advice now." Harry could see something big was looming behind Malfoy's eyes, and it was something that could instill real fear in the Slytherin. Harry had to know what that was. "So tell me what's going on. I know we've never exactly got along. I know I'm not the most likely person to talk to. But, Draco, I'll listen. And I might just understand more than you know."

Malfoy's face, always so hard and cruel, flickered for a moment, showing a soft, vulnerable side, one which badly wanted to let go, to trust, to talk. He took a shuddering breath, letting his head drop down. When he lifted it again, his face was an impassive mask. "Life as a Death Eater's son isn't exactly easy." Draco's voice was calm, barely above a whisper. "The things I've been expected to see, to do... Have you ever seen a Death Eater's inauguration ceremony?" When Harry shook his head, he continued, "It's horrific. As a... cadet, you might say, I was required to attend those for my friends ahead of me. Crabbe and Goyle, theirs' were fairly simple. They each had a muggle to perform various curses on, prove they could stomach inflicting pain on a helpless person, or better yet, enjoy it. That, believe it or not, was the easiest part.

"Once the person on the floor barely resembled a living creature at all, they were required to kill it, usually with Avada Kedavra, or some other killing curse, or by just about any means, really. Crabbe managed a curse, Goyle crushed the skull of his. Then, they are tested for... endurance. Each Death Eater has their turn at cursing the wizard in the middle, causing as much pain as they will in their minute. If the Dark Lord approves of them, they are then branded." Draco broke off with a shudder, the first sign of life he'd shown since he started the narrative. "The smell, and the sound... I believe you've been to a barbeque, right? Our Lord likes the burning, the screams of his new servants, their whimpers as their Mark burns as they lie on the floor.

"And the better the witch or wizard, the worse the trials. Marcus, Marcus Flint, you remember him? He was in that room for five hours, and looked like the Lestranges did fresh out of Azkaban. For days. He's still not the same, much more quiet, obedient... and he's got no confidence. He can't even catch a quaffle anymore. And Blaise..." Draco choked on the name, blinked carefully as he continued. "Blaise couldn't handle it. His mind snapped, couldn't handle the pain... and they laughed. Merlin, even his father laughed. And the Dark Lord told Father to dispose of him. And Father, he told... he told me... told me to do it. I looked at him, his eyes clouded with pain as he stared up at me. Harry, he recognized me, I swear it. As I raised my wand, he recognized me..." A tear escaped the corner of his eye, tricked down his cheek. Voice cracking, Draco continued as Harry sat in stunned silence across the table, "When I did it, when I killed him, my best friend, and I killed him, he looked so happy, so grateful... And everyone there, all these people that had been my family and friends my whole life long, they were proud. Proud that I could use an unforgivable curse so efficiently before I was initiated.

"And then... then it was my turn." His voice was calm again, though even quieter than before. Harry leaned in to listen. "Father came to get me, woke me up, told me to get into some black robes, to get ready. I obeyed, too numb to do anything else. I couldn't eat, probably would have lost it all during the torture anyway. It was the middle of the night, we had to fly there, the wards around the House prevented portkeys or apparation. We were about three miles east of London when I just snapped. I don't know what did it, maybe the rain, or I just had a moment of being sensible or something, or maybe the cold just knocked me out for a second. I dived, got inside the fog banks along the Thames before Father saw me. I dodged most of the curses, got a couple on my back, singed the tail of my broom, but got into London proper free. I took out as much money as the goblins would let me, got a room in the Leaky Cauldron, basically stayed in hiding, went to Hogwarts as soon as I could. Don't know what to do now. Everyone knows my family's a bunch of hardcore Death Eaters, so I'm not wanted by the free world. My friends are all dead or slaves to the Dark Lord, He'll kill me, worse than what happened to Blaise if I go back there." The cool, hard exterior was crumbling Draco teetering between laughter and tears. "I... I have nowhere to go. I've screwed up my life so bad, and it wasn't even all my fault. Not my fault...not..." he trailed off, shoulders shaking.

"Oh, by the four, Draco... I never knew..." Harry had no idea what to say. This was Hermionie's field. He reached out awkwardly and put his hand on Malfoy's shuddering shoulder, wishing he knew what to do. His mind flew back, thinking about Cho, how people tried to help him after Sirius, the Weasleys and Fleur when Bill had been killed by Death Eaters, and still couldn't come up with any help. He just sat there helplessly, trying to comfort what had been his rival while he shook and shuddered, facing demons no one should have to.


	8. Changes

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.  
  
Changes  
  
"Furnunculus!" Harry Potter's yell echoed through the courtyard. First years shrieked and scrambled out of the way of the duel starting up without warning in the crisp January snow. Around the edges of the courtyard, the students were lining up to watch it, even a few bets could be seen passing around.

"Incendio!" Draco Malfoy's returning spell made a beeline straight for Harry, who couldn't quite duck in time. Diving into a snow bank to dampen his smoldering robes, he fired his own burning spell back. One thing Snape's project had done, they both knew an insane number of fiery and burning spells.

"Blizzaga!" Malfoy's screech came across the snow as he very quickly neutralized the little fires starting up all over his robes. "Salamandra!"

Harry yelped. He shed his cloak, then his sweater, dropping out a feisty salamander having a go at burning a hole through his stomach. It sizzled down through the snow bank as he shouted, "Geshunteight!" Hermionie had found a rather nasty set of curses designed to inflict someone with a set of cold symptoms, and Harry had just been itching to try them out on someone.

Sure enough, Malfoy doubled over under Harry's wand, sneezing like an allergic at a dog show. "Ric- ric- rictoshempra!" he gasped out between sneezes. It didn't last long, because of the shoddy casting, but it was enough to break Harry's concentration. They both leaned on nearby trees, gasping for breath, until, "Tarrentalegra!"

"Oh, great..." Harry muttered as he started a bizarre riverdance. Once he fended off a tree, and leapt over the hole left by the now extinguished salamander, he realized his hands were free to cast spells, despite his franticly moving feet. _Your fatal mistake, Malfoy..._ "Stupefy!" he yelled, snapping his wand down between bounces.

"Hah!" His opponent's wand swirled and snapped up in a decisive movement, completing what Harry recognized as a trampoline shield he must have been weaving while Harry was distracted with not leaping into a tree.

"Oh, sh-" Harry was catapulted backwards into a statue of Sorceress Edea. The good thing was, his legs stopped their ridiculous up-and-down bouncing. The bad was, he dropped his wand when his entire body went numb.

"Give up yet?" Malfoy was standing over him, twirling both wands in his fingers, sneering down at his fallen opponent.

"Do I look like I have a choice?" Harry hated saying that.

"Good. Enervate." Harry sighed as feeling swept back into his limbs again. "You're getting better, Potter. Someday, maybe, you'll be able to beat me." He laughed as he reached down.

"Someday? Excuse me," Harry said, as he pulled on Malfoy's arm to get up out of the snow, "but didn't I get you yesterday? And the day before that?"

"No!" Draco laughed as he handed Harry's wand back. "McGonnagal interfered, remember? Seemed to think we were being dangerous."

"Well, maybe sending offensive spells across the Great Hall at breakfast was a little over the top." Harry laughed back, clapping Draco's shoulder.

"Fun though,"

"Oh, definitely."

Since that night in the dungeons, which neither of them talked about with anyone, Harry and Draco had started getting along. Neither was able to give up six years' habit of being rivals, however, so they were still constantly getting into fights and trying to top each other. Now, however, they picked each other up off the floor when the smoke had settled. Actually, their duels had gotten more vicious since they became friends. This was because the teachers were a little slower at sending them to detention, likely because they thought they were less likely to kill each other now.

"You little pain-in-the ass excuse for a wizard! Look what you did to my sweater!" Harry held it up, glaring through the hole the salamander had burned in it.

"Not my fault!" Draco said with an innocent expression, "And anyways, you can always get Dobby to fix it for you. He likes you, for some reason."

"Probably because I've never cursed him."

"Hey, I never cursed him! Well, not often... Joking! Just joking!" Draco chuckled as Harry brandished his wand at him again, and was just about ready to start up another duel when the chime for class rang. "Shite! We're late for Potions!"

"I doubt Snape'll mind, he likes you."

"Hmm, yeah, you've got a point. Ugh," Draco said as they passed a shadowy staircase, "Do they have to do that right there?"

"Apparently. At least you don't have to watch them in the common room every night." Ron, who hadn't bothered taking Potions since the fifth year, and Hermionie, who had a free period because she'd finished the project early, were under the stairs, quite busy. Actually, they were busy enough that they should probably be somewhere more private than a staircase, where some poor first year might see them and be scarred for life.

"Yeah, I pity you. Speaking of which, any luck on the soul mate front?"

"Nah, that girl from Hogsmeade just wanted an autograph..."

"Too bad, she was cute." Neither boy had been able to find a girlfriend, which frustrated them to no end. They had decided back in November that two boys, neither of which was in any way poor, insignificant, or ugly should be able to find suitable girls.

Unfortunately, none of the world's girl population appeared to have heard this astounding bit of information. "Someday, Harry, someday we'll find the loves of our lives."

"Yeah, hopefully before we go gray."

"Or get killed."

"Or tortured."

"Or mutilated."

"Or drafted by the aurors."

"Or forced into the Dark Lord's army."

"... we are living in a really depressing time, did you notice that?"


	9. Not Doing a School Project

Someday, I will own something of great value. This will not be Harry Potter, as J K Rowling already owns it.  
  
Not Doing A School Project  
  
"Draco, you're supposed to be good at Potions. Why don't you take over?"

"Because, I don't like fertilizer potions."

Harry dropped his quill with disgust on the piece of parchment which, after twenty minutes, was still blank except for some doodles in the corner. "Well, then we're screwed. Oh, well, it's not due until Friday anyway."

"And this is what, Wednesday night?"

"Er, yeah. So, we start tomorrow." Harry leaned back in his chair in the dungeons, completely ignoring the stack of books sitting on the small table. He and Draco had taken to partnering on projects for a few reasons; Ron and Hermionie were always together, leaving Harry with no partners; there were only five people left in the Slytherin class, leaving Draco with no partners; and, their rivalry made their projects jump up to a whole new level as they were usually trying to outdo each other. Usually.

"Pansy tried to trap me in the Charms classroom today." Draco said out of the blue.

"What? She still hasn't given up yet?"

"Nope." Draco looked glum about it, even though she was the only girl who had followed either of them around for any length of time. "I wish she'd just give up and go fall in love with someone who cared."

"Why couldn't someone we like try to trap us in an empty classroom?"

Draco sighed. "I know, this is starting to get depressing now. You'd think by the end of our seventh year, one of us would have gotten a girlfriend."

"Yeah. Maybe Justin's got the right idea after all. He's always got someone hanging off his arm."

"Justin?"

"Finch-Fletchley. Hufflepuff. Gave up on girls years ago, and has gotten more action than the two of us put together."

"Oh, yeah, him. Hmm, interesting thought, eh?"

"Yeah, not something that crossed my mind before now. Think it'd be weird?"

"Good question... only one way to find out!" Draco said cheerfully. Before he could think about it again, he grabbed Harry and kissed him full on the mouth.

Numerous thoughts went flying through Harry's head at that moment. First was that he couldn't believe his first kiss in a year and a half was coming from Draco Malfoy, followed quickly by the thought that he kissed better than Cho (wet), Colleen (tasted like too-old broccoli), Amanda (drooled down his front), Nicole (tried to steal his wand and wallet for a souvenir), and just about every other girl he could ever remember kissing.

"Oh. Shit. I didn't expect to enjoy that." Draco had let go and settled back into his chair.

Harry's eyes opened at his words and he replied with a sheepish grin, "Neither did I. Actually, I didn't expect it at all..."

"Oh, shut up!"

"Are you blushing, Malfoy?"

"NO!" Draco glared over at his rather amused friend, "Stop staring at me!"

"Fine." Harry leant over and kissed him instead. He was quite enjoying himself, and slid his chair closer, so he could wrap his arm around Draco's shoulders, suddenly liking how much taller his former rival was. Harry felt Draco's hand come up to the back of his head to idly play with his hair and he moaned, dropping his head down to the blonde's shoulder. "Is this at all what you ever imagined doing?" Draco murmured as he gently nibbled down Harry's neck.

"Mmm, no, not in the slightest... what are you doing to my neck? It feels bloody marvelous..."

"My secret... don't you wish we'd thought of this sooner?"

"Oh, yes." Harry turned his face back to Draco's, eagerly starting what turned out to be an incredibly sweet kiss. "We're going to have to thank Justin..."

"Hmm, I suppose. Not now, I hope." Just in case Harry was considering leaving to find the Hufflepuff, Draco reached over and pulled him onto his lap, bringing his lips within kissing distance again. To his utter delight, he felt Harry's tongue gently probing his lower lip, and willingly drew him in.

After an eternity, Harry drew back and said in a low voice, "No, it can wait till tomorrow."

"Planning on being busy tonight then?"

"Definitely."  
  
THE END  
  
Author's Note: Did people like this story? It's my first time writing anything like it, so any and all feedback is welcome.

And something strange, there were exactly 666 words in this. Isn't that so excellent?

Sorry, I'm entertained by weird things.


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